


100 Words

by Miss_M



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-02-10 17:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12916770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: A collection of short prompt fills, posted originally on an anon meme. Updated occasionally.EDIT: new chapters 29-34





	1. Second loves

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these are double drabbles or drabbles-and-a-half. I own nothing.

Jaime woke up feeling cold all over. 

He supposed, on balance, it was just as well he could _feel_ the cold. It meant that he had not turned into a wight overnight. 

He glanced at Brienne’s shock of pale hair and long eyelashes brushing her cheeks above the edge of the traveling cloak, in which she was wrapped up tight as a sausage. She slept still as the milky light filled the forest. In a moment, Jaime would get up and start a small fire, so the wench would wake up to at least a vague suggestion of warmth. 

He could have been lying in a silken bed in King’s Landing. He could have been wearing a white cloak still and had his sister warm him.

On balance, as he lay in the middle of the winter forest and watched Brienne sleep, Jaime vastly preferred to be where he was.


	2. Age difference

“Apologies, wench,” Jaime managed to say in between deep breaths. “I am not as young as I once was.”

Brienne wiped the sweat from her brow, fanned her face inelegantly with her hand. “I do not complain, Jaime. Do you want a drink of water?”

He laughed, though it came out as more of a wheeze. “So you’ll have the advantage of not needing to piss as well as your youthful vigor? I think not.” He sketched a mocking bow. “Though I thank you for your tender concern, my lady.”

Brienne smiled and raised her sword. “Come on then, ser.”


	3. Surprise kisses

“Wench?”

Brienne kept staring ahead, and her cheeks were already so red, Jaime couldn’t tell if she was blushing extra hard.

“We-e-e-ench?”

“What?” she all but snapped, still not looking at him.

“You just kissed me.”

“I...”

He watched her honor war with her embarrassment. She would not deny that she had, incontrovertibly and with rather a loud smack of her lips, just kissed him on the cheek. To deny it would have been a lie, and Brienne did not lie to him. Not since Pennytree.

“I didn’t mean to do it! You looked... I couldn’t resist," she finished softly.

Jaime stared at her, waggling his eyebrows and grinning, until she turned an even brighter shade of red.

“Come on, then. Fair’s fair.”

Brienne sighed and offered him her unblemished cheek.

“Oh wench, that one is for surprise kisses. The other is for anticipated payback kisses.”

Brienne turned the other cheek and giggled as Jaime tickled her with his beard and pressed his lips to her ruined cheek, not teasing her with his tongue only because that might have made his teeth graze her healed flesh. There was always past pain between them, but this was a moment for sweetness.


	4. Transformed into an animal

“Well, wench, this is a pickle.”

The cat regarded Jaime with its astonishing blue eyes. One of its ears was shredded in a long-ago fight, another old scar marked its face, and its pale fur was matted.

“Don’t you know better than to annoy sorceresses with eldritch powers?”

He scratched the cat’s ears. It hissed and swiped at his hand, but its claws passed safely through the air next to Jaime’s wrist. The cat mewled and butted its head against his leg as Jaime kept petting it.

He smiled. “That’s my wench. Don’t worry, Brienne, we’ll sort this out somehow.”


	5. Calm

Jaime used to feel peace only with a sword in his hand and blood rushing in his ears like an ocean in a cave, and sometimes when he was with Cersei.

Now he pauses between snow-laden firs, tilts his head to the sky, and opens his mouth. Sleet turning to rain drops down his throat. Can dragons change the weather?

Beyond the circle of trees, the battle rages on. Jaime cannot spare more time for contemplation. He charges back into the fray, hoping that Brienne will stay awake long enough, back at Castle Black, for him to ask her opinion.


	6. Darkness

“Is this it?” Brienne asked softly, as though the Long Night itself might hear her.

Jaime pretended to look around for a non-existent hourglass or sundial. “Unless those thrice-damned dragons show up soon, I think so, wench.”

“Oh.” Even in the thick gloom, Jaime could see her searching the tree line for trouble before she turned back to face him. He almost believed he could see her eyes. “Are you afraid?”

“If I’m being honest, no.” 

Brienne snorted. Jaime ran his hand down her sleeve, found her hand. 

“A little,” he said. 

Brienne squeezed his hand. Hers was very warm.


	7. Wine

Brienne snored, her head pillowed on Jaime’s chest. 

Jaime let her snore, stroking her back and watching the rolling fields outside their window. He had forbidden any attempt at a formal bedding, but even so Brienne had got a bit giggly on just one and a half cups of Myrish wine. She’d kept giggling once they were alone in their chamber, for reasons which had nothing to do with nervousness.

If she felt well when she woke, Jaime would suggest they continue their sport from the night before. If her head hurt, well: the days grew long.

It was springtime.


	8. In denial

He did not talk about her. Not all the time, not frequently, almost not at all. 

He did not talk about her pretty eyes, or the time she’d fought a bear with only a wooden sword and no hope of rescue, or that other time she’d sunk a ship full of armed men and swum back to Jaime in her chainmail. He most definitely did not discuss their swordfight when the Bloody Mummers had caught them – he was certain he had not mentioned it in at least a sennight!

Jaime loved his brother dearly, but sometimes Tyrion talked utter nonsense.


	9. Arousal

“Jaime?”

He craned his head, his eyes intent on something behind her. Brienne tried to turn around and look, but Jaime turned her back. 

“Jaime? What…?”

“I am blinded by the sunlight glinting off the sweat on the back of your neck, wench.”

Brienne did not wipe her neck dry, though she wanted to. 

“It’s a very pleasant sensation, watching you blush, all sweaty after sparring.”

Brienne no longer wished to wipe her neck. She cleared her throat. “Do you mean sparring or _sparring_?”

Jaime sighed, but she could tell he was smiling. “I have much to teach you still.”


	10. Something uniquely them

“Come on, wench! All the wights will be gone by the time we get there.”

“You can go without me.”

He could, but he never went into battle without her on his right. Jaime leaned against the doorframe while Brienne rummaged inside the clothes chest sitting at the foot of their bed. 

“Lost your sword?” Jaime asked sweetly.

Brienne spared him a look. “I can’t find my scarf. I put it right here yesterday.”

“Wench, people will still admire your eyes without the scarf to offset them.”

Brienne turned scarlet, gathered her weapons, and preceded him out of the room, muttering still about the scarf that Lady Stark had given her before Jaime and she departed for the Wall.

Jaime plucked a corner of blue silk out of his shirt and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply.

Tucking the scarf back inside his clothes, he followed Brienne into battle.


	11. Non-ridiculous epithets

Sometimes Brienne would be just Brienne. 

Not the Maid of Tarth, not Brienne the Beauty, certainly not the Kingslayer’s whore, not even the soft-voweled wench of Jaime’s teasing. 

Her names are a heavy burden, but then Jaime carries even heavier names, and Brienne can no longer use any of his to defend herself. When he ‘wenches’ her once too often, she would rather cut out her tongue than call him Kingslayer ever again, and she blushes furiously at the thought of repeating “My name is Brienne!”

“Come on, wench,” he calls, oblivious.

“Coming, _ser_.”

He catches her tone and grins.


	12. Dreams

She dreamed of him too. 

Her dreams of Jaime seemed to involve always pain and blood as well as swirling cloaks, daring escapes, and moments of quiet which filled Brienne’s heart and left it thumping when she woke. 

_“Life is not one of your songs, wench,” Jaime told her._

_“I know,” she replied harshly. Even in her dreams, she blushed: “I wish it were so I could sing it for you.”_

_Jaime’s warm finger caressed her healing cheek_ , and Brienne rolled over, sighing in her sleep, a single tear dropping unseen from the corner of her eye onto her bedroll.


	13. Horses

“Honor,” Jaime said, pointing at the roan wearing Kingsguard colors, before he gestured at the piebald horse in Lannister red and gold. “Or Glory. Your choice of mount, my lady.”

Brienne set her jaw. “If I choose Honor, you will tease,” she said. “And if I choose Glory, you will mock.” Not to mention she would be riding a beast in Lannister colors. She could already hear the lewd jests. 

Jaime gave her an unreadable look. “Their names were chosen by a kind boy you’d like. Take Honor, he has a gentle nature. Glory gets temperamental, but I’ll handle him.”


	14. In-universe fic

“Listen, wench, it's our song!”

“Oh no.”

Brienne looked around, but no one was watching them. The men by the inn's fireplace were busy singing lustily: “The knight swore and said ‘You wanna go?’ but the giantess told him no...”

“But the giantess told him ‘Oh yes’,” Jaime hummed. 

“Jaime,” Brienne warned. 

A large, bearded man stood abruptly. Brienne touched her sword hilt, but the bearded one did not approach their table. He swayed on his feet and launched into a solo:

“The giantess entered the fight, the earth shaking ‘neath her feet, and all their foes did she beat and save her beauteous knight...”

Several bearded ones echoed the last line drunkenly: “And save her beauteous knight!”

A roar of approval rose around the fireplace. Jaime kept time by drawing arcs in the air with his finger and batted his eyelashes at Brienne. 

Brienne smiled, in spite of herself.


	15. Broken promises

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

Brienne swallowed tears, tried again: “I couldn’t do that. Not to you. Not even for Lady Catelyn. Not… not even for P-Pod and Hyle.”

She bent her head, covered her face with her hands, and wept. Jaime stood watching her crouch where he’d shoved her to the ground. They’d been half a day’s ride out of Pennytree when the truth came spilling out of the wench’s mouth and eyes. A woman’s tears, a woman’s oaths. Jaime wanted to rage against both, but he felt the lashes that scourged Brienne, oath upon oath. 

“Look at me.”

She wouldn’t, or she couldn’t. Jaime seized her shoulder and shook her. “I said, look at me!” And she did, her eyes like full moons.

“I ought to kill you,” Jaime snarled, feeling his anger diminish even as it burned in his throat. He knelt in the mud and folded his arms around Brienne’s hunched form.

She started violently, but Jaime kept hold of her, and soon enough she shook like a sapling, and wetted his jerkin with her snot, and embraced him with shy hands.

“You stupid bloody wench,” Jaime said, feeling bone-tired, and rested his chin on Brienne’s shoulder.


	16. Blushing virgins

“Well, well.” Jaime’s breath stirred the hair by Brienne’s ear. “You _do_ blush all over, wench. I wondered.”

She stared resolutely at his hip and arm, not his face so close to hers. He ran his hand down her side, then raised it to brush the hair off her face.

Brienne drew a deep breath. “Your hand is shaking, Jaime,” she said, imagining her words were a shield, a suit of armor. Something to fortify her.

Jaime took her chin and turned her to face him. He was smiling. “I haven’t been here either, Brienne, at least not with you.”


	17. Growing old together

Brienne winced as she lowered herself slowly beside Jaime. 

He gave her a look. “The leg or the hip?” he asked.

“Both, I think.” She shifted in her seat, her leg brushing Jaime’s.

He put his fingers in her hair, which brushed her shoulders. “Ashes and ancient scars,” Jaime said. “You got old.”

Now it was Brienne’s turn to give him a look. Only his eyes remained unchanged, still brilliant as sunlight through spring leaves. 

“You got older,” she grumbled. 

Jaime tugged her hair, just a little, brushed her lined and scarred cheek with his lips.

“Heartless wench,” he murmured.


	18. Deep winter

“This isn’t so bad,” Jaime said, tossing another stick into the fire pit.

Brienne looked at him sideways. They sat side by side on her bedroll, with his bedroll and their cloaks wrapped around them. 

“Could be worse,” Jaime pursued cheerfully. 

“We could be wights,” Brienne said, half in jest and half in earnest. 

“Indeed or, worse yet, we could still be surrounded by Starks and Bolton defectors and wildlings, all crammed into Jon Snow’s castle like pickled sardines. This is quieter, more peaceful, and far and away cozier.”

Brienne’s cheeks glowed warm in the darkness under the snow-laden firs.


	19. Ice

Jaime had an ice house built for the household. He told no one that he sat in its cold, dark quiet sometimes, till his nose and fingers turned numb and he was glad to escape back into sunshine and birdsong. 

One day, he discovered Brienne in the ice house. Her cheeks were wet, and she blushed fit to melt the ice when she saw him. 

“We can’t keep from living in each other’s pockets, wife.”

“It reminds you too?”

He nodded. “Though now the memories feel warm and safe. Leave it to you to undo my purpose.”

Brienne scowled fondly.


	20. Surprisingly good first-time sex

Brienne shut her mouth and concentrated on breathing through her nose. Gradually her heart stopped hammering. She remained covered in sweat and quaking all over. 

Another deep breath, and she dared to glance at Jaime.

He was gazing at her, flushed and sweaty too, before he broke into a slow smile and stroked her maimed cheek with his crooked forefinger. Then blew her a noisy kiss. 

Brienne shut her eyes, breathed and counted to ten, then leaned in and kissed Jaime on the mouth without looking. 

“My lady’s pleased, then,” Jaime chuckled, embracing her.

“Pest,” Brienne muttered into his beard.


	21. "Not what I expected"

“I did not expect to be escorted back to King’s Landing by a single guard, and not even a knight. A prisoner of my stature should have merited half a dozen archers, at least.” Jaime grinned at the color rising in Brienne’s face. “Nor did I expect a wench for a guard.” 

She turned from red to crimson. “Well I did not expect you to be so… so…”

“Wittily irresistible? Devastatingly alluring? Dangerously intriguing?”

“Annoying. And cruel. And… and brave.”

“You did not catch me at my best,” Jaime said softly. 

“I said brave too,” Brienne replied.

“I know, love.”


	22. Unusual requests

“Don’t argue.” Brienne shoved the bundle into Jaime’s hand. “Just put the dress on.” 

She gestured at the laundry basket she’d dropped inside his cell door, and produced a sealed pot from her pocket. “I’ll comb out your hair so it hides your face, and this will make your hand look chapped.”

Jaime smirked as Brienne fished a comb from her other pocket. 

“If you expected me to put up a fight, wench, I’ll have you know this is not my first time wearing a dress.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “You’ll tell me once we’re safely away from this place.”


	23. Doing what has to be done

“Brienne,” Jaime said without turning his head to look at her, watching the shrieking horror which was once Catelyn Stark.

Brienne’s voice was a mere whisper: “Yes?”

Then Jaime did glance at her, her frozen features and wide eyes. “I will guard your flank and stand by your side. Now strike true, Brienne.”

His left arm was only good for fighting off Stoneheart’s peasant followers, and anyway he knew something about needing to be the one to strike down monsters.

Brienne struck true. _Protect the innocent_ , Jaime thought wryly as he began to hack an escape route through Stoneheart's rabble.


	24. Relief

“Fool of a Watchman didn’t think there’s more than one Jaime at the Wall,” Jaime whispered in Brienne's ear. “No match for me even when he was alive, of course, but it was Ser Jaime Toole from some noplace in the Riverlands that met the Stranger today, wench. Not me, else you’d be squeezing a corpse's ribs right now.”

Brienne’s bear hug eased only a little. Her eyes had been red but dry when she’d borne down on Jaime across Castle Black’s yard, and she sighed against his neck now with no apparent intention of letting him go any time soon. 

“Hug me much longer, and everyone will know you love me,” Jaime teased, rubbing Brienne’s back with his hand. 

“I know,” Brienne said. “Let them.” She paused but a moment: “I do.”

Jaime held his wench close and ignored the Seven Kingdoms’ flotsam and jetsam defenders staring at them.


	25. Realization

Silence descended on Castle Black’s courtyard after the messenger in royal livery rolled up his scroll and left the raised dais. All around Jaime, Starks and Thenns and Watchmen and Umbers began to shuffle their feet, glance around, and mutter among themselves.

“Does that mean it’s over?” Brienne said quietly, so quietly only Jaime heard her. 

“Sounds like it. The Queen’s peace proclaimed, pardons all around, world without end.” Jaime did not know where the bitterness in his tone came from. He felt wrong-footed, uncertain. Hollowed out like a gourd between one breath and the next.

Brienne was silent. “I don’t know what to think,” she said at last, just by Jaime’s ear. “It’s so… new.”

Jaime glanced at her. The sight of her wind-chapped face and wide eyes gladdened him, in spite of his unsettled mood.

“Not everything changes, wench.” He took Brienne’s mittened hand in his. “My rock.”


	26. Accidental cockblocking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's more of an M rating...

“Ser Jaime,” Pod panted. “You must c-c-come at once. No time t-t-to lose. And Ser Lady t-t-too. ” 

The lad bent over, hands on his knees, and heaved deep breaths. Jaime may have pitied him, but he was eyeing the short distance between Pod’s bent head and the stone floor, and imagining how he might violently close that distance. 

“Podrick,” Jaime said calmly. His cock was _still_ hard. Seven hells. “Get out. Tell them we’re coming.”

Not waiting for the lad to scurry out, Jaime turned to Brienne.

She clutched the top sheet to her chest and stared, wide-eyed, at the spot Pod had occupied. Her mouth opened and closed twice, but no sound came out. 

“I doubt he saw much, wench,” Jaime said more serenely than he felt. 

Brienne’s expression was one of disbelief. Jaime reached under the sheet. Brienne shifted, her eyes fluttering shut, and sighed.

Jaime removed his hand and put his fingers in his mouth.

“Hmmm,” he hummed before he threw back the sheet, stood, and grabbed his breeches. “Hell of a distraction, but you’ll just have to be patient, wench. Duty calls.”

He was not surprised when a pillow hit the back of his head.


	27. Gardens

The fabled blue roses bloomed again in Winterfell’s gardens. Their thick scent clung to the back of the throat, making Jaime sneeze, even sometimes when they were displayed on trestle tables at state dinners. The Queen of the North was rather fond of flower arrangements, a lingering trace of Southron tastes.

Brienne braved the presence of those hated flowers for Lylla’s sake, for the little one loved playing in the crumbling, petal-strewn soil under the rosebushes. 

“They do say motherhood is a perpetual sacrifice,” Jaime murmured in Brienne’s ear while they watched their daughter.

Brienne frowned, but only a little.


	28. Hurt/comfort

Brienne checked the bandage wrapped around Jaime’s head for the third time.

“At least the bottle was empty,” she said. “Why did you have to bring up the Targaryens in a Martell sympathizer tavern?”

Jaime shrugged. “I was bored. Now where’s my kiss? To make it better?” he explained, off Brienne’s look.

She kept staring. 

Jaime batted his eyelashes. He pouted. He feigned dizziness.

Brienne grabbed him by the shoulders before he could keel over. She dropped a peck on his bandage, then bestowed a longer kiss to his mouth.

Jaime hummed. “Modest, yet not chaste. That’s my wench.”

“Hush up.”


	29. Premature ejaculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another M-ish rating

“It’s your own fault, wench. You should soak in ice-cold water before bed, keep your eyes closed at all times, and handle my flesh like you do swords and whetstones: briskly and without finesse. We could have avoided this whole mess, but no. You had to be warm and maiden-soft, and keep your eyes open.”

Jaime halted the stream of babble to draw breath. “All your fault,” he concluded, a weak parry at best.

Brienne stared at him, still flushed and tousle-haired from their all-too-brief grapple. “Jaime, it doesn't matter,” she said quietly.

His eyebrows went up, but before he could parry and stab, she jumped into the fray: “I mean, we’ll try again. I could…” She thought through her options. “I can keep my eyes closed, if you like.”

Jaime still felt like a fool, but he pulled his wench close. She really _was_ warm. “Not on your life.”


	30. Sex outdoors

“Food for three days in case we happen upon no inns, houses, or castles between here and King’s Landing?” Jaime recited in a deceptively bored tone. 

Brienne pretended not to notice him goading her. “Yes.”

“Full canteens, in case of a dearth of rivers, streams, and wells? Maps, weapons, a change of clothes and smallclothes?”

Brienne tightened the strap on her saddlebag. Her horse snorted. “Yes.”

“Then we lack only one thing more.” Jaime hoisted up several blankets rolled up into a thick bundle. 

Brienne blinked. “It’s warm, even if it should rain. We don’t need those, Jaime.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, wench. Many perils lurk in wait for those who would sport in the open. Anthills, snails, rogue twigs, not to mention pebbles, rocks, and earthen lumps. You’ll be glad of several soft layers under your arse.” He paused just long enough to glance down Brienne’s body, away from her blushing face. “Or your knees.”

“And I suppose you expect me to tie those to my saddle, although I planned everything so the horses carry equal burdens?”

Jaime smiled. “They _are_ for the benefit of your arse. Or…”

Brienne snatched the blankets away from him. “Or knees, I know.”


	31. Dreamsharing

Brienne was too frightened to sleep deeply. Dreaming brought her a vision of Ser Jaime and herself in a dark cave. She woke up flushed and atremble, for she was naked in the dream, as she had been in the baths. 

She could hear a bear roaring in the night.

*

Jaime misliked his dreams often, especially the one in which a knight mocked the wench with the aid of a blooming rose and barbed words. Even in his dream, Brienne stood silent and immovable as a rock.

At Harrenhal, Jaime knew the knight at once by his red beard.


	32. Bad weather

Jaime sneezed. 

“How much more of this forest is there?” he complained. He sounded like a frog, and Glory snorted under him, clopping along the sodden path under the dripping trees.

Astride Honor, Brienne reached over and wiped Jaime’s wet face with the edge of her sopping-wet cloak. Jaime grabbed it and blew his nose into it.

“Jaime,” Brienne complained, holding onto her saddle’s pommel as Jaime tugged her toward him by her cloak. 

“Wench, it’s been raining without respite for three days, and these trees will not stop dripping. You look more waterlogged than I feel.”

“Well,” Brienne replied after a moment, “I’ll grant you that it’s not the kind of wet I’m used to with you.”

Jaime turned to stare at her, but she stared resolutely ahead, her cheeks blazing in the gathering, dripping dusk. 

Jaime drew breath for a wolf whistle. It came out as another sneeze.


	33. Unicorns

Nobody cared to listen to Jaime insist the unicorn test was antiquated as well as useless for any but the most sheltered noble girls. Remembering how Cersei had explained away the unicorn’s refusal to go near her by hinting at Robert Baratheon’s fondness for wine, though everyone knew unicorns cared only for maidenheads given, not stolen, away – and how their father had nearly broken off Cersei’s engagement over the insult to his family’s honor – had used to make Jaime laugh. Now he gritted his teeth at the thought that Brienne would have to undergo the same humiliation.

The wench stood in a field at sunrise, as per custom. The unicorn came trotting out of the forest, stopped at fifty paces from Brienne, sniffed the air, and trotted back into the dappled shadows. 

Jaime felt several pairs of accusing eyes on him: Brienne’s squire, the seneschal representing her ailing father, the witnessing septa. 

Jaime returned each of their stares in turn, then shrugged: “Lady Brienne has always followed her own counsel, and I was lucky to be on hand, as it were.”

Smiling at the outrage this comment provoked, he started across the field to where Brienne stood, hunched and alone.


	34. A rainy day

“Steer, steer, steer your boat, boldly down the stream,” Jaime crooned in his cracked voice.

“No!” Lylla beat her little fists against her father’s thighs. “No boat! I hate rain!”

Jaime kept the squirming girl on his lap only by the grace of a firm grip around her waist – she could be as difficult to handle with only one hand as her mother. They sat by a window at Evenfall Hall, and it was indeed raining. 

“Fine,” Jaime said, then resumed singing over Lylla’s protests. “Steer, steer your battleship, no rain do we need! Curse the clouds and smash your foes, life is full of mead!”

Lylla turned her round, blue eyes on Jaime. “What's mead?”

“Jaime,” Brienne called from her solar. “What _are_ you singing?”

“Mead is made from honey, sweetling,” Jaime whispered to Lylla. “Life is full of honey. Nothing, Brienne, just keeping her busy,” he added more loudly.


End file.
